Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Playing Suicide Hotline

Why do I spend my nights this way?
I just phoned a girl I've never met, never spoken to in my life, to convince her not to kill herself.
You're probably confused. Let me explain.
Okay. So, I'm more or less a shut in. I don't leave my house. Thinking right now, I haven't been outside in over a week. So I don't have many friends, but the few friends I have I don't know their friends.
My best friend I've ever had has a friend going through depression issues. Tonight, she was talking to her and she started telling my friend that she didn't see the point of life anymore.
Then she went offline and wouldn't answer texts.
My friend has medical issues triggered by stress. When she gets stressed, she can get pretty sick. So I offered to phone her friend.
My friend didn't have her number. So I went into my phone book and tracked it down using only her last name and street.
And then I called her, and stopped her from killing herself.
It was really weird. I was looking on all these suicide websites listing all the reasons they said on why you shouldn't kill yourself, then I'm like, eff this. So I just started talking to her.
And, not to sound too egotistical, I SAVED HER LIFE.
And then we hung up after I gave her my number and told her to call or text or message or add me anytime she wanted.
And then I went to my kitchen and made pizza in the middle of the night.
Then I came on here.
Also, is anyone still reading this? Because I don't think you are.
So I'm bragging about saving someones life to no one. Oh well.

Also, I'm aware that I could have simply delayed her suicide a day. But she refuses to go back to therapy, and its weird for her to talk to people when she has to see them later, so I'm hoping she'll actually use me as her suicide hotline.
Oh, she just added me on Facebook. That's good.

Sunday, August 29, 2010


Well... I'm back. And I can't walk.
See, I was right about the lots of standing thing at the wedding and reception and my shoes were terrible. Like my clothing that I wore all week, they looked nice, actually really nice, but were horrible to wear. But I wanted to look nice for my dads family.
See, my closet is full of graphic tee's, ripped jeans covered in pen, and I wear crocs most days. But my dad wanted me to look nice, so I went to Value Village with my friends and they picked out nice clothing for me. (I didn't want to spend a fortune getting new clothing that I'll only wear once).
Yeah. And then after I left Medicine Hat, me and my dad went to go stay with my Amma (grandmother) and mom and little sister, who were there visiting.
This was great fun for my dad, who is divorced from my mom, so he spend two days living with his ex-wife, and ex-mother-in-law.
We went to the Calgary Zoo one day, and the Tyrelle Museum the next.
So now I'm going to go find a heating pad to wrap around my legs, take a sleeping pill, and sleep.
ps. Me and my mom have been talking, and we think its best if I start taking actual pain medication. To anyone with CMT, is there anything that you would recommend? My mom thinks Tylenol 3's are our best bet, but when I had surgery I had to take three before anything happened. My doctor would give me morphine if I asked for it, literally, so don't worry if what you would suggest is a bit powerful. It did take them twice the amount of knock out gas to make me sleep in surgery.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Medicine Hat

So, I'm going to Medicine Hat. My cousin is getting married. I have to wear really painful shoes and I'm guessing I'll be standing up a lot, so I can't imagine I'll have much fun.

Meh. I just had to go chase away stoned and/or drunk teenagers from my front yard where they were screaming my sisters name at the top of their lungs. Did I mention its like 3am? Ya. I opened my front door and yelled that my sister wasn't home and to go the f*** away. I never swear except to my sisters friends, because otherwise they don't take me seriously.

Anyways. I'm going to Medicine Hat. It's going to suck, as far as I can tell. My dad has been telling stories about how sick I was and how much pain I was in and whatever, so everyone will be asking me how I am and stuff.
The thing is, I like telling people about when I was in the hospital. Its a good story.

I got to the hospital, and they took me to the OR, and they tried to put me to sleep. The doctors and nurses were trying to make me feel safe or whatever, and they were talking about how the gas mask smells like Canadian Tire, so I decided to tell them I got mt favorite pair of shoes there.
That made them think the drugs were working, I guess.
After a while, I was still awake. It took them forever to make me go under.
When I woke up, they hadn't given me any pain meds yet.
I woke up with three breaks in each foot. My tendons had been cut and moved.
It was unimaginable pain.
The nurse gave me eight shots of morphine before she finally called the doctor to ask him to give me a shot of ketemine.
That made me pass out.
I woke up not long after, and I was finally hooked up to an IV, and was getting Morphine and Ketemine and I was still in pain but it wasn't unbearable.
The ketemine made me hallucinate. For some reason I started seeing characters from the tv show Heroes in my hospital room.
I kept talking to them, with confused the actual people in the room.
And I kept lifting up my right arm and holding it in front of me.
I was like that for three days. I didn't eat or drink or move.
I finally woke up, and I realized I must have gone through withdrawal from caffeine, which I was happy about.
Then my mom passed me a coke, because she wanted me to drink something.
And she brought me pizza, and Asian food, and like a whole bunch of awesome takeout food that we never get.
And she choose then to get it, when I couldn't eat.

See? I enjoy telling that story. I like that story. Answering 'How are you? Are you feeling okay?'
Not so much.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010


So, CMT is a genetic thing. You probably already know that. I got my CMT from my dad.
My dad has really bad CMT, like, he can't move his toes, his feet dont look like feet anymore, the only thing left on the bottom of his legs is skin and bone. The muscle is long gone. He cut off his thumb last summer and he hardly felt it because the nerve endings are dead.
He went to see my nerologist last week.
My nerologist says I have worse CMT than he does.
I was freaking out when my dad told my he said that, until I though, 'Oh, I'm 15, my dads 55, he must meen compared to age.' So I asked my dad if thats what he ment, and my dad said no.
I'm worse off than my dad.
I told my mom Dr. Skulsky (my nerologist) said that, and she just nodded and said she already knew that.
I seriously didn't know I was this bad.
I mean, I knew I was bad. I can barly walk like 50% of the time. I twist my ankles every day, sprain them twice a month. My hand tremors are like earthquakes. Somedays I'm in so much pain I just take sleeping pills and sleep through it.
But I thought, 'Look at my dad. I'm not as bad off as he is. So don't complain.'
But I am as bad off as he is.
This cant be good.